I sit beside the hospital bed, holding her hand tightly because I’m scared if I let go it will be for eternity and I can’t bear losing her all over again. I feel her fingers rummaging around in my grip as she is trying to make me lose it so that she can fall back into her deep slumber. I hear a weak fragile voice saying hello and I look at her face. Her eyes are wide open staring into mine like she is trying to know me again. “Viola,” I say her name while she moves her hand away from mine, looking at me with confusion. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “It’s me, Lucas,” I introduce myself but she remains quiet while the doctor enters the room and his footsteps are echoing in the silence that this room is submerged under.

“Good morning,” the doctor says as he walks towards me. When he is standing next to me, he has a hand on my shoulder as if he is about to reveal some bad news. My eyes are transfixed onto him as he remains silent. “Viola, do you remember anything at all before the crash?” He asks a simple question but something so simple could easily break me.

“My name,” she says weakly as she tries to sit up straight but struggles.

“Which is?” The doctor prompts her to speak so that she can regain her true self.

“Viola Mary Harris. I’m 23?”

“Do you recognise the man sitting next to you?” He asks and I can’t look at her scared of what her response is. “You don’t. Over the next few days, people will help you to regain your memory. But it is so great to see you awake again. I’ll come back later.” The doctor leaves me and Viola in this hospital room.

I turn to face her, trying to piece together on what brought us here. It’s my fault as my drunk self decided to drive. _She could’ve died. _It’s my fault she no longer recognises me, but I don’t recognise her either. Surely, she could’ve remembered us, what we had but no. Not a single fragment of memory crosses her mind, and somehow I am the one asking her, “who are you?”

“I’m Viola Harris,” she says but those are the words I didn’t want to fall from her mouth. I wanted her to say that she is the love of my life and not a stranger that I have to win over again.

“Good morning, more like bad morning because you have just broken my heart,” I say getting up from the chair beside her hospital bed because I want to leave. I was holding onto her hand and those words of her is making me lose her all over again. I start to walk away with my head bowing to the floor, so that I can focus on crying to myself.

“Please,” Viola says behind me as if she is wanting me to stay but I can’t. I can’t be in a room with someone that now considers me as a stranger. I walk away as my heart continues to shatter into pieces and my blood splatters everywhere because I am made of glass. Once broken, I leave shards of my heart around hoping that it shall kill someone else. This time, I’m hoping a shard kills Viola as I can’t live a life where I have to remake every memory, retell stories, redo every fight and argument, and kissing lips that no longer tastes like strawberries. Strawberries were my favourite fruit, but now it’s lemon.

WARNING: A little graphic description of a murder

“Who are you?” - those were the hardest three words to hear in my life. “Just listen to me,” I cried out. “What do you want, are you homeless?” “No! You don’t remember me because I ripped the fabric of time. This may even be a different dimension. I’m your girlfriend in my dimension. I have to find a crown of some type, and I need your help.” He stared at me like I was crazy. “I can’t do that,” he said slowly. “Why not? The fate of the whole multiverse lies in the hands of you and your just going to sit around and wait for it to happen. You’re a jerk.” I had trouble saying those words, but I knew it was true. Even my Aiden just wants my attention, not my heart. “I can't just sacrifice my life for something that doesn't exist,” he screamed at me. “Coward! I hate you, why did I think you could help me, you are selfish. And this exists, what girl are you torturing now?” Then his eyes lit up. “Sapphire... But… no you're dead…” “What? I’m… What?” “You're dead,” he stared at me. “Where am I?” He stared now with a focused face. “You were murdered by a… dragon…” “That sounds pretty normal. Listen if you care about me you need to help me make sure no others lose her,” I said calmly. “If I don't get her, no one does either,” he pulled out a sword. “Everyone will be destroyed even you,” I scream at him pulling out my spear. “I don't care humanity is cruel, we need them to be destroyed!” “NO!” I slide under him and try to stab him in the back. He dodges and stabs me in the shoulder. “Don't you know what you're doing, you're breaking the multiverse, you really are a self-centered b-” He stabs me in the stomach. I really do have to kill him. I pierce through his heart and hear the satisfying crack of bones. His eyes loled and his body hit the ground. More Satisfying cracks. But this wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to save people. She saw something shining in the distance under some clothes. It was a crown etched with the words _for Sapphire's eyes only. _I found it. A note fell out of it.

**_Dear future Sapphire,

I'm sorry I'm not hear to help you, you must have murdered Aiden. I don't blame you. I had to protect you by- I'm sorry I don't have much time, do what your heart tells you. Make sure to read this (the words are covered in blood)

Sincerely, Sapphire of the past

_**I cried. I had to save the multiverse. I had to help her. I wonder what she was trying to tell me. All I knew was this wasn't the end. I would save the multiverse. That's what my heart is telling me.

Authors note- I may make a part two and tell me anything I should fix, thanks and have a good day/night!

“Who are you?”

Those three words hit Lana like a punch to the chest. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. Then her voice broke through, raw and desperate. “It’s me! I’m Lana!”she yelled, stepping closer. “Eldric, look at me!”

But his eyes.. they were empty, confused. He flinched, as if her words didn’t make sense. “I.. I’m sorry he said softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before.”

The ground beneath her seemed to crumble. Tears blurred her vision, and her hands trembled as she turned to the mirror beside them. Her reflection was wrong off. It was her, but it wasn’t. Staring back at her was a darker version of herself, a twisted smirk curling on its lips.

Lana’s chest tightened. “What did you do?” she whispered to the mirror, her voice barely audible. Then louder, trembling with anger, “What did you do to him?! Why doesn’t he know me anymore?”

Her reflection just stood there, unbothered, smug. A cold, taunting smile crept across its face. It didn’t answer.

"Who are you?" - those were the hardest three words to hear in my life. And yet, it was just a random encounter that confronted me with this question. I went to an exhibition, modern art, a mix of philosophical questions and educational content.  One of the pieces was a small room. Black and empty. On one wall was a body-sized mirror and through a speaker, in a loop, came a voice asking existential questions. "What is your purpose?", "Who do you love?", "Where do you call home?", and, most painful of all "Who are you?"

I am used to such exhibitions. They usually are very interesting and provoke thinking, informative about topics one does not usually think about. This exhibition was called „Self-discovery“. It promised provoking pieces from multiple artists expressing their self-discovery. Some as trans, some in their femininity, some as artists, some as their own person, not who their parents want them to be. And then there was this little black room. All sides were covered by black curtains, except for one covered by a mirror. A light illuminating the person standing in this room as if in the spotlight. Speakers asking questions.  I hadn’t expected this. Some exhibitions had caused me to think, but this one, this one room, it broke me.  Who am I? Who am I really? Who am I if I take away the mask? Tears started rolling down my cheeks and I fell to my knees, the carpet was the only reason I didn’t hurt myself. I lost any kind of awareness of my surroundings for I don’t know how long.  At some point, I must have walked out, through to the exit, the subway. I found myself on my favorite bench in my favorite park. I liked to come here whenever I needed some me-time. It looked over a pond covering half of the park, ducks of different kinds swimming around, sometimes a swan or two. I didn’t know what happened, what had made this simple piece of modern art shatter my whole self.  I tried to think through everything in my life, tried to find all the things that define me. My job, my friends, my family, my hobbies. But at every point, I startled and kept second-guessing myself. Yes, I had this job. I had studied this field in university. But was it really a part of me, or just what I did because there had to be something? Yes, I had my friends, but are they really? Am I not just spending time with them because that is what people do? Do things with their friends? Yes, there is my family, but what would change if I didn’t? Anything at all? And yes there are some hobbies, but I don’t really do any of them passionately. If someone were to tell me to stop doing them, that would be fine by me. I identified myself with none of those things. So, who am I then?

I sat there, no concept of time in mind. Only when I started to feel cold did I realize that it had gotten dark and the lights along the path had turned on. I got up to slowly walk home. At home, I notice all the small things in my flat. The way I collect soft things in my bed, the pictures I chose to hang up and the ones I didn‘t, the piles of books that don’t fit on the shelf, my favorite cup sitting on the desk, and the smell of tea always in the air. All the decisions I made without realizing it. Is that who I am? Am I the person who likes soft things? The person who likes pretty pictures, but not pictures of people? The person who enjoys a warm cup of tea and falls in love with stories I read? Maybe I am all those things that I do without thinking about them. All the decisions that come naturally to me. The morals I have because anything else doesn‘t make sense.  I don‘t need to be able to define who I am. I just am me.

“Who are you?”

those are my three hardest words to hear

questioning

identify

person

a pair of words that could kill

a dagger in the heart for many

a anger for some

Who are you? A mothers nightmare No clue Stranger beware You too No one cares

"Who are you?" - those were the hardest three words to hear in my life. Ellie Hart was, and always will be, the love of my life. Decades ago, I was crazy about her, and she adored me like nothing else on this earth. We were inseparable. I still remember the first time I laid eyes on her at Bremington High School. I knew then, as young as I was, that I had never seen anything on God's green earth so beautiful as her. Ellie was angelic. Whenever she smiled, everything around her was bathed in her ethereal glow. Some, when I tell our story, say it was love at first sight. I tend to disagree; I was never a big believer in that concept. Knowing at first sight, well, that's more like it. When I first saw Ellie standing in our school hallway, I knew I would spend the rest of my life loving her. I don't know how I knew, but the belief was so intense it could have knocked me to the ground. And I was right.

Sixty Years Earlier... __ _ _I take my time walking to class down our school's long hallway. _7:20 A.M. _I still have about ten minutes before class starts. Although it's the second week of school, I still feel funny calling myself a freshman, but I guess that's life. Our titles that we learn to love don't last. Before I know it, I'll be a senior in a dull nursing home wishing I was young again.

“-so you have to think about it, Macki, think about what you want to do with your life. Think about who you want to be. This isn’t you. It can’t be. I refuse to believe this is some ‘new you.’ I know you’re in there… somewhere in that mass of flesh we call a mortal body. I only hope to reach you before you lose sight of yourself completely. Look… I know we’ve all changed, but I know you. You’re not a monster. You’re not cruel. How could you do such a thing?” “I-,” I started. “I’m not finished with you!” She yelled, cutting me off. “Wake up! What will it take to get the real, authentic, you back? Who even are you anymore? Who are you?” She sputtered, “Some soul-seller dealing with the devil? All for what? The great, wondrous priviledge of bullying others and a spot at the table of our great and powerful lords?” Her voice dripped with molasses-laced sarcasm. I didn’t know it was possible to hear someone roll their eyes. It stung. It really did. I finally had felt confident. Someone who wasn’t whispered about and laughed at behind my back. I thought she would support me. But maybe I did lose sight of myself. I stood there, speechless. What do you say to someone who bared their heart in anger to you? Someone who once loved you? This was not how my life was meant to turn out. She and I were going to stay besties until our hair turns gray and white. We were planning each other’s weddings and giving our future children matching names. I am, I suppose, tired of all the obnoxious, high-pitched “hiiiiiii”’s and fake “OMG I love your outfit”’s. How could I have been stupid enough to give our relationship up for shallow future high school has-beens? More importantly, how do I fix this? I took a deep breath. “Please,” it was barely a whisper, a voice worn out from the silent tears that peppered my face. “I never wanted this. I don’t know what I was thinking… Can you ever forgive me? Can we be friends again?” It was a long shot and I knew it. I scanned her face, noticing ripples of uncertainty through the fog of hurt. She wiped away a tear of her own quickly, as if she didn’t want me to see her cry. “I don’t know.” It was a slim glimmer of hope; a bearly-alive olive branch; a peace offering. “I will do everything I can to make it up to you. I swear. You have my word.” Clarity had dawned anew. Who was I trying to be?

DING! The metal door alerts me of new customers walking in. I look up from behind my seat at the cash register, apprehensive of anyone who enters the store past 10pm, especially on a weeknight. Three teen girls saunter down the chips aisle. One complains about not grabbing dinner before the show, while the others rush her saying they're going to be late. Fine, she says, and grabs a bag of chips before strolling to the beverage coolers. Her friends seem annoyed - they want to get to the show. She takes her time, trying to decide between a Dr. Pepper or Ginger Ale. Odd choices, I think. Typically underage teens try to fool me with their fake IDs, claiming they just have different makeup on or they look taller in heels. I never let it slide; I need this job after all. But I'm grateful that I don't have to play bad cop tonight, or even worse, actually have to call the cops.

She walks up to the counter, her friends trailing behind her. Find what you need? I ask, as I start ringing up her items. You don't happen to have real food here? She replies, while her friends grunt their frustration behind her. Nothing substantial, I admit. She sighs, then pulls out her wallet to pay. That's when I notice it... a large birthmark shaped like a heart on her right hand, just between her thumb and pointer finger. I stare at it, not even registering that she's offering her credit card to me. You okay? she asks after a moment, as I jolt out of my shock. It can't be - can it? The splitting memory from 17 years ago crashes into my mind. A small bundle of flesh, with a perfectly shaped heart on her right hand, crying out, seemingly for me. Or maybe that was the memory of guilt crushing my soul like a body of water, heavy and loud.

What's your name? Not the response she was expecting. Sam, she replies, looking at me with confusion. How old are you, I ask almost too quietly for her to hear. I try to stop the tears from flooding my vision, but she's perceptive and seems uncomfortable. 17, she responds. A lump clogs my throat and I'm unable to speak. I grab her card and my movements are on auto-pilot as I run it through the system, trying to gather myself. It's nice to meet you Sam, I say, as I hand her card back, incapable of looking her in the eye. You too? she responds uncomfortably, as she puts away her wallet while her friends usher her to the door. Before following them out, she takes one more glance back at me as if maybe, in the back of her memory, we had met before. Little did she know how right she was.

“Who are you?” The first three words I had heard him speak in a year. I clenched my fists trying to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill down my cheeks the doctors mentioned he would forget his life before but I had hoped and prayed it wouldn’t come true. Telling myself he could never forget me but I was wrong. He stares at me his eyes looking as though they are looking through me not at me not recongnizing anything about me while I recongnize everything about him but that lost and foreign blank stare he was giving me. He told me he could never forget me he loved me too much to forget. I cry as he looks at me in confusion and asks again quietly “Who are you?” “I am your wife.” I say softly. He looks at me in fear and confusion. “I am not married.” He responds eyes searching me as though he had never seen me in his entire life. I wish I could know what he was thinking as I sat there crying. I watch this woman who claims to be my wife crying I see the obvious distress in her sobs which wrack her petite form. I was never married I thought why is she barging in here claiming I had married her maybe it is just to gain attention. But something about her seems sincere the way her ocean blue eyes look into mine and tears spill down her cheeks I can’t help but wonder maybe she is my wife and I just forgot everything. I watch as she pulls out a book she sets it on my lap it is full of photographs of me and her together I look at them trying to puzzle together what is going on and how I couldn’t rember this woman who seemed to be a with me in very photo smiling her ocean blue eyes crinkling at the corners showing her joy. I look up at her and see her eyes then I feel a wave of remebreance as I look into those lovely eyes and whisper “It is you.” Her eyes find mine and she hugs me tightly I smile hugging back smelling a wash of her lavender scent coating me in her warmth I close my eyes and sink into her embrace.